The Splitting Image
by Ptolomeia
Summary: "'You are the splitting image of your mother,' a tender voice said, the crisp English accent cutting through her reverie. Brigid spun around to see a tall man with wild blond hair and mismatched blue eyes wearing a dark suit and leather gloves standing before her." It has been two years since Sarah died, and the Goblin King has unfinished business. One shot.


A/N: This is Dark Jareth and it is not pretty. There is non-con/very heavily suggested non-con and one of the characters is underage. If it isn't your thing, well, you've been warned.

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Brigid stood at her mother's grave and tried not to cry. It had been two years, and the time for tears had passed. So what if her mother had been taken from her when she was barely 15? Her mother would want her to move on, be happy, and she owed it to her mother's memory to at least try. She reached into her coat and pulled out the peach blossom—they had always been her mother's favourite, though she wouldn't even touch the fruit itself—and placed it on the tombstone. It would wither quickly in the cold, but her mother would have appreciated it. It would snow later, and cover the flower, but not yet. She whipped the tears she'd been trying not to shed from her cheeks and got ready to say her last goodbye for the year.

"You are the splitting image of your mother," a tender voice said, the crisp English accent cutting through her reverie. Brigid spun around to see a tall man with wild blond hair and mismatched blue eyes wearing a dark suit and leather gloves standing before her. He smiled softly at her wide eyes. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's simply… the resemblance is striking."

"Um, thank you," Brigid said as she nodded and tried not to let more tears fall. "People say that a lot."

"I'm not surprised." He smiled at her again, but there was something odd in his eyes as he gave her a once over.

"You knew my mother?" She asked, giving him a discerning look. She hadn't seen him at the funeral. She would have remembered.

"We met briefly," he replied, his expression becoming shuttered. "But she made quite an impression on me. I'm glad to see her daughter so well."

Brigid almost snorted. Alone and crying in a graveyard was a great sign, she knew. "That sounds like mom all right. Dad always said she was a force of nature." Did the man _bristle_ when she mentioned Dad?

"She was forceful and determined, I'll grant you that," he replied with a small smile, making her wonder if she had imagined him bristling. "I'm sad to say I lost contact with her in later years. This is the first time I could come to visit her." There was a soul-deep pain in his voice that Brigid couldn't help identify with, even if she'd prefer not to. "Tell me, was she… happy?" His gaze searched the gravestone for something and, not finding it there, returned to Brigid's face.

"Yeah," Brigid smiled, remembering her happy memories with her mom, before the illness took hold and started poisoning everything. "Mom was really happy. She loved her work, loved me and Dad. Well, if I ever marry I hope whoever I love, I love like Mom loved Dad and he loves me as fiercely as Dad did Mom." This time she was sure she wasn't imagining it. For a moment there, his eyes had looked like chips of ice and the air crackled with something electric. Brigid's eyes flicked to the gate to the cemetery. Somehow she knew if she got out, she'd be safe. Mom had always said that she should trust her instincts. The man caught her glance.

"Of course, I'm sorry, I've been keeping you. Let me escort you home," he offered, his tone as soft as silk.

"Thanks, but no. I'd like to have the walk home alone to collect myself." She took a step towards the gate. She hoped she was wrong. _Please_ , let her be wrong.

"Oh, but I insist." The man stepped into her path, the silk pulled back to reveal blades. Brigid straightened her back and looked him dead in the eye. Show no fear, Mom had always told her. Now more than ever it was important to remember what Mom had told her. If Brigid was wrong, well, she'd be a little embarrassed, but it was better than the alternative.

"I said no, Goblin King," she said, making sure to meet the mismatched eyes her Mother had made sure she'd know. His eyes widened at her use of his title. "What? Did you think my own mother wouldn't warn me about you? You have no power over me, Goblin King. My mother taught me well." He stared into her defiant eyes with something close to shock for a full five seconds before throwing back his head and laughing. The sound sent shivers down Brigid's spine.

"Oh, that would be Sarah," he said, his eyes still dancing as he stepped out of her way. With one last glance at her Mother's oldest nightmare she started walking towards the gate. Brigid didn't look back at him. That was another thing Mom had made clear. Never look back.

Of course, this meant that she didn't see him smile and conjure a crystal. The only clue she had that something had gone wrong was when she realized _she couldn't move forward_. Her eyes widened in horror. Oh no. Please, by all the gods no!

"Of course," the Goblin King said as she heard him saunter closer. "What Sarah, My Sarah, my Precious Little Sarah, didn't know, is that you need to earn the right to say those words." She felt his hand on her shoulder and she would have given anything to be able to shrug it off but _she couldn't move_. She saw him come around her and give her the most soul-chilling smile she'd ever seen. "She earned the right, running my Labyrinth and winning her brother back from me." His eyes danced with the memory. "But you? You have done nothing to earn that right." His hand caressed her cheek and he tilted her face up to look at him. She was glad he'd frozen her while her face was still looking brave. "And I must say, Precious, I find myself having absolutely no desire to give you that chance." He gave her a considering, almost sad look. "You should have been _my_ daughter. Our daughter." His eyes hardened and she felt his other hand start… oh gods, she begged silently, please let this be a nightmare. "You really are the splitting image of your mother, Precious. She should have been mine, you know." He started pulling her closer, her body following only his unspoken wishes, completely beyond her control. "Now, you can be." And with that, he kissed her and they vanished and the cemetery rang with unheard screams.

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A/N: This has a companion piece: On the Three Ends of Brigid Williams.


End file.
